


A (Late) Unexpected Christmas

by under_a_grey_cloud



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Christmas, Eggnog, M/M, drunk on eggnog, xmas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-12 11:24:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9069394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/under_a_grey_cloud/pseuds/under_a_grey_cloud
Summary: Sam, Dean, and Cas are drinking eggnog and watching It's a Wonderful Night.Christmas carollers inexplicably show up at the bunker door.Benny LaFitte inexplicably shows up at the bunker door.The night becomes even weirder.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [12 Days of SamBenny Christmas](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8847877) by [Zetal (Rodinia)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rodinia/pseuds/Zetal). 
  * Inspired by [12 Days of SamBenny Christmas](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8847877) by [Zetal (Rodinia)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rodinia/pseuds/Zetal). 



> This little story is dedicated to one of the writers I Beta for, [Zetal (rodinia)](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Rodinia/pseuds/Zetal). We'd had fun exchanging comments on other people's work, when one day on Tumblr she asked me if I'd Beta a story for her. I said "sure."
> 
> Odd thing is, I don't do social media and I almost never go to Tumblr. The one day this year someone asked me to read something there, I happened to see I had a message from Zetal who had asked me about being a Beta that very same day. What are the odds?
> 
> Once I figured out that she was a high-school teacher, not a high-school student, we became friends.  
> I particularly enjoyed reading Zetal's [Chapter 8 of 12 Days of SamBenny Christmas](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8847877/chapters/20466934) so I decided to re-write a very silly version of the same chapter, with some very important changes. Hope you like, Zetal.
> 
> Sorry for all the links. I gave up trying to get rid of them. They clone.

Sam lay on his back on the couch, his huge feet sticking up in the air, resting on a ripped but comfortable couch arm. Cas sat on the floor, using the couch as a headrest. Dean slouched in an easy chair by the end table, beer at the ready. A huge tree decorated with bright lights and delicate ornaments stood dazzling in a corner of the room, but all eyes were glued to the TV.

 

Cas was watching _It’s a Wonderful Life_ for the first time. Dean and Sam were watching for maybe the tenth time? Twentieth? They’d lost count, except that Dean insisted he’d watched at least four times more than Sam. Sam retorted that even if he watched once as a baby it still counted. Cas kept up a running commentary on the movie:

 

“Why is George Bailey suicidal if he’s lived such a good life?”

“Is that why Meg called me Clarence?”

“That’s just plain ridiculous. Anonymous prayers do reach Heaven, they got that part right. But angel wings aren’t earned. They’re part of our Grace.”

“It’s true that many angels are soldiers, and Heaven can be quite militaristic. But Angel 2nd Class? What does that mean? Is a second class angel worth less than a first class angel? That’s utterly implausible.”

 

Sam had long ago stopped trying to explain the movie to Cas. Dean drank his beer and paid rapt attention, blocking out Cas and Sam and everything else. A few Christmas movies later he switched from beer to eggnog. He made an absurdly large amount, “just in case.” Sam enjoyed sipping his, and even Cas gave high praise: “I think I can taste something other than molecules.” Dean glugged his down like milkshakes.

 

Suddenly they heard what sounded like canon blasts hitting the bunker door. All three of them rushed upstairs to see what was happening, thinking of various disaster scenarios. Dean grabbed the closest gun handy, Sam took a large container of salt, and Cas slipped his angel blade up his sleeve. The bunker was completely out of the way of anyplace else, and covered with sigils as well, but in the unexpected rush, no one thought of that.

 

For some inexplicable reason, a bus full of high school students singing Christmas carols had found their way to the bunker. This had never happened before. Ever. Twenty students wrapped up in down jackets and scarves and gloves stood at the door, singing _Joy to the World_. To say that Sam and Dean were flabbergasted would be a huge understatement. Cas assumed that busloads of kids singing carols at the bunker was another typical human tradition, a rather nice one. He even sang along to the carols, adding baritone harmony that only a few of the high school boys would ever match. Eventually the singers stopped. They did not move. They stayed exactly where they were, in front of the bunker door, smiling expectantly.

 

“Aren’t we supposed to give them hot cider or something?” Sam whispered to Dean. Dean shrugged and went back upstairs to the kitchen. He returned with a large bag of plastic cups, a pot filled with eggnog, and a ladle. He began ladling out the eggnog, eggnog to which he had previously added a generous portion of rum. The students drank quickly, then began giggling and vying with each other to see who could create the most lewd versions of Christmas carols. The chaperone looked puzzled, till she received her cup of eggnog. She sipped it, startled, and chugged it down before announcing to the students it was time to leave.

 

The minute the students left, Sam began laughing uproariously. “I can’t believe you did that!”

 

Dean shrugged. “When in Kansas...,” followed by a large burp.

 

“Does eggnog always come with children singing Christmas carols?” Cas asked. “Perhaps we should make a pot without eggnog?”

 

Dean stared at him. “Say what?”

 

Sam laughed and explained “I think Cas meant we should make a pot without rum.”

 

The idea was not particularly popular, so Dean whipped up some more eggs while Sam filled a huge pot with cream, milk and sugar. Dean added an entire bottle of rum, and the three of them returned to the television for a serious bout of eggnog and Christmas movies.

 

“So what next?” asked Sam after the third or fourth film. They were starting to hit the bottom of the barrel.

 

“Don’t really care, so long as it’s Chrishmushy,” Cas slurred. Apparently he was under the influence of more than just molecules.

 

“Let’s spike up this party and listen to some tunes.” Dean flipped to YouTube and found The Killers’ _Don’t Shoot Me Santa_. “Awesome!” In a minute Cas was asking if Santa Claus typically carried a loaded gun, Dean was singing along at the top of his lungs and playing air guitar, missing the tune by a long shot. Sam was laughing too hard to answer Cas’s question.

 

When the video was over, Sam and Dean heard another knock on the bunker door. Cas didn't notice, as he was passed out in oblivion.

 

They brothers gave each other the same look when the knocking continued. “What the—“ began Dean, while Sam said

 

“Is this for real?”

 

The brothers leaned on each other as they walked up the bunker stairs. _No more eggnog for kids_ , Dean thought. _I’ve corrupted enough young minds for tonight._

 

Sam was too busy trying not to trip over Dean to think about eggnog. Dean opened the door and said “Sorry, kids. Fresh out,” to the group of carollers. Who were neither a group nor carollers. Instead, he found himself staring at Benny. Benny was staring at the bunker door, looking a bit confused but otherwise fine in his jeans jacket and boots.

 

“Benny, my friend!” Dean put an arm around Benny’s shoulder and almost knocked him over in the process.

 

“What are you _doing_ here?” asked Sam.

 

Benny shook off Dean and propped him up against an outside bunker wall. He immediately slid down the wall and ended up sitting spread-eagled on the ground with his head in his lap.

 

“Hey, Sam,” Benny said in the clearest voice Sam had heard for a while.

 

“What are you _doing_ here?” Sam repeated.

 

“Damn if I know. One minute I’m watchin’ fireworks down in Lou’siana, next minute I’m here at your door. Kinda thought maybe you’d know why I’m here?”

 

“Not a clue,” Sam answered, still staring at Benny.

 

“Well, it’s good to see you,” Benny said.

 

Sam agreed.

 

“You know the cold don’t bother me, but maybe we should do somethin’ about Dean?”

 

Benny and Sam lifted Dean up with a hand under each armpit. He stumbled a few times up the stairs, and probably would have hit his head on the concrete if Benny hadn’t zoomed to catch him in under one second flat.

 

“Let’s get him on the couch,” Sam suggested. As soon as they lay him down, an arm and hand dropped onto Cas’s face.

 

“How about we go into the kitchen?” Sam and Benny took chairs opposite each other at the table.

 

“Want some eggnog?”

 

“Don’t think so. I’m gettin’ a contact high just smellin’ this place. Phew.”

 

“So Benny, you won’t believe this. We had Christmas carollers here tonight.”

 

“No kiddin’? In Kansas? Musta froze their asses off.”

 

“I think the rum in the eggnog Dean gave them took care of that problem.”

 

Benny let out a real belly laugh. “He didn’t! Dean gave spiked eggnog to Christmas carollers? Knowin' Dean, it musta been pretty heavily spiked eggnog.”

 

“They were high school students,” Sam said, trying to keep a straight face.

 

“Uh-uh. Tell me Dean didn’t give spiked eggnog to a buncha high school kids.”

 

Sam shrugged. “What can I say?” He tilted his chair back and rested his feet on the table rungs.

 

“Gotta love ‘im. Maybe cause he was born first, he used up all the crazy.”

 

A moment of silence ensued. Not the comfortable kind. Benny started picking at a scratch in the table top, trying to clean it out with a toothpick. Sam tilted his chair back some more, until he looked in serious danger of falling over.

 

“Seriously, Benny. It’s great to see you, but how on earth did you end up here?”

 

“Got me. I told you. One minute I was down in N’Orleans, watchin’ the fireworks, next thing I know, I’m standin’ at the door to the bunker.”

 

Sam reached over the table and took Benny’s hand. “You’re always welcome here, you know.”

 

“Thanks, cher.” Benny gave Sam’s hand a squeeze. “Good to be here. Just wish I knew how. Hold on. Just remembered somethin’. Outta the blue, I hear this woman’s voice in my head, sayin’ ‘Benny was staring at the bunker door, looking a bit confused but otherwise fine in his jeans jacket and boots.’ I ain’t the one who had a bucketload of eggnog tonight. How come I’m telling’ myself a story ‘bout me?”

 

“In a woman’s voice, no less?” Sam asked, starting to leer.

 

“And why on earth would I be thinkin’ bout how I look in my jacket and boots? Had the same damn clothes for years.”

 

“I don’t know, but you look pretty good in them.” Sam moved his hand up Benny’s arm.

 

“Ya think?”

 

“Definitely, I think. Although I don’t know how much longer I’m going to be able to think. Dean’s eggnog really packs a punch.”

 

“Well, since I got no idea how I got here, I got no idea how I’m gonna get home. You gotta spare bedroom?”

 

“Yes we do, and you’re asking me this why?”

 

“Dunno, cher,” Benny leered at Sam. “Case someone else shows up at your door?”

 

“Let ‘em.” Sam leaned across the table, gave Benny a quick kiss, then was non-plussed when he couldn’t figure out how to leave the table without dropping Benny’s hand.

 

“Winchesters. Gotta love ‘em.”

 

Somehow they made it out of the kitchen to Sam’s bedroom.


End file.
